


the blessing of melitele

by MaliciousVegetarian



Series: Witcher Pregnancy/Baby Prompts - March [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Family Fluff, Gen, Magical Pregnancy, Melitele - Freeform, Near Death Experiences, Pregnancy, Pregnancy complications, Witcher Pregnancy/Baby Prompts - March
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29778741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaliciousVegetarian/pseuds/MaliciousVegetarian
Summary: After clearing monsters from an abandoned temple to the goddess Melitele, Geralt is told she and her school will receive a blessing.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Vesemir
Series: Witcher Pregnancy/Baby Prompts - March [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2189178
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	the blessing of melitele

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my first piece for my Witcher Pregnancy/Baby (aka baby acquisition) prompts. Several things: first of all, I just casually dropped Geralt meeting a literal goddess in here and I have no regrets. Second of all, I spent way too much time thinking about whether you could safely have a baby in the fanon Kaer Morhen hot springs before throwing all that out and deciding, why not. 
> 
> Warnings for mentions of emeto, near death experiences, and pregnancy complications

Geralt has realized what’s going on by the time she’s on the road to Kaer Morhen. After all, Melitele herself had promised her a blessing. And this certainly counts as one, she thinks, cupping the swell of her belly and feeling the baby kick beneath it. She can’t bite back a smile. A blessing, indeed. A new life, a new member of the wolf school. Except this child will never have to go through the horror of the trials. No, they’ll only know the camaraderie and love of the other wolves.

She’s in sight of Kaer Morhen now. The road has been a bit more difficult than usual, the pregnancy already beginning to tire her, but at least the vomiting has stopped. In addition, Roach seems to have noticed something is different, and Geralt swears she’s going slower than normal to make her witcher slow down as well.

As she slogs through the last few feet of snow, she’s feeling more content than she has in a long time. Soon she’ll be home, wrapped up in front of a fire with Roach tucked up in the stables next to Scorpion and Devil. And before long she’ll have her baby, the two of them tucked up in the warm keep.

They must have been waiting for her, because before she makes it to the door, it swings open and Eskel comes out. It only takes Geralt a moment to notice what’s different about her sister. She’s got a bump identical to Geralt’s.

They look at each other for a long moment, and then Eskel lets out a loud, bright laugh. “Lambert told me this would have happened to you as well. She said this would all be your fault.”

Geralt laughs back. “Lambert, too?”

“All of us. Come in, you look freezing.”

Geralt leads Roach to her stall and gets her settled, then follows Eskel into Kaer Morhen. Lambert is waiting for them in the hall, and just as Eskel had said, she also has a noticeable lump around her midsection. Geralt can’t stop herself from staring, and Lambert smirks at her in response.

Vesemir is in the main room of the keep, and Geralt is more surprised than she’ll admit to see that the oldest living wolf witcher is also in the family way. Eskel really meant it when she said it was all of them.

Geralt pulls off her heavy and soaked outer layers, and buries herself in a pile of furs near the fire. Vesemir disappears in the direction of the kitchen, and Lambert perches herself on the arm of Geralt’s chair. “You too, huh?” She gestures at Geralt’s stomach, obscured under the layers of blanket. “I bet it _was_ something you did, you bastard.”

Geralt shrugs. “I wasn’t trying to do anything.”

“You never are, you bastard. Spill.”

“I cleared some pests from an abandoned temple of Melitele. In return, she promised us a blessing. I thought it was only me, since I was the one who killed the beasts, but she did say ‘a blessing on your school.’”

Vesemir, who’s returned with several steaming mugs of tea, cocks her head. “Yes, I suppose a goddess’s blessing will do that. I barely believed it when I realized, but. Yes, that’ll do it.”

“You warming up okay?” Eskel asks Geralt, and she nods as she snuggles deeper into the blankets. It’s good to be among her family once again.

“So exactly how long do we have?” Lambert asks, leaning backwards so far she looks about to topple over. “It’s been three months since I realized, but it’s definitely been longer than that.”

“Six months,” Geralt says. “The temple was six months ago.”

“They’ll be here before the winter’s out, then,” Vesemir says. “That’ll make it easier.”

“Someone will have to stay here through the summer, though,” Eskel says. “Preferably two, at least, with four infants to care for.”

“Someone will need to be on the path as well,” Lambert points out. “We’ll need money, with all those kids to support.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything. She knows she should volunteer to be the one who goes out, but she can’t bring himself to. She wants to stay so badly.

“We don’t have to decide anything now,” Vesemir says, glancing at her. “There’s still time.”

“There won’t be for long,” Lambert mutters.

Geralt is starting to feel tired, the weight of the furs and the warmth of the fire and the exhaustion of her journey piling on top of each other. She presses her cheek into the fabric of the chair and lets herself drift.

True to Lambert’s words, the next few months pass quickly, in a haze of preparation. The four witchers scour the keep for anything usable. They take apart clothing left lying for decades, wash it, and resew it into tiny baby clothes, use it to piece together little quilts. Boards are pulled from beds and used to make cribs and cradles, which they set up in the room they’ve designated as the nursery. By the time Lambert’s labor pains start, they’re as ready as they possibly can be. They start at midday, and she spends several hours pacing around the keep before all four of them make their way down to the hot springs. As Geralt helps Lambert down the stairs, the younger witcher is biting back shouts of pain.

Using the springs as birthing pools had been Eskel’s idea. They’d all agreed it was brilliant. 

Once there, Lambert doesn’t spend much time in the water. Instead she walks, from one end of the long cavern to the other, one hand braced against the cool stone wall as she goes. Occasionally, when the pain overtakes her, she leans against it. When it’s time to push, however, her fellow witchers help her into the coolest of the pools, and after what seems like an eternity, a little boy slides into the water. Vesemir lifts him up and places him on Lambert’s chest.

“Hello, pup,” she gasps, running one hand over the baby’s dark head. “Hello, little one.”

They dry the baby and dress him. Lambert seems unable to take her eyes off him for any long length of time, cradling him to her chest and staring. He’s a long baby, with fingers to match, which he curls and uncurls as if testing the new materials around him.

Eskel’s labor progresses much quicker than Lambert’s had, and smoother at that. Her little girl is born in less than eight hours. She doesn’t cry when she’s pulled from the water, instead looking around with wide eyes. Eskel curls her close, and the girl seems to melt in her mother’s arms. 

That night, they all sit in the main room, Eskel’s baby in her arms and Lambert’s in a cradle at her feet, which she rocks absently as they talk. Geralt has rarely felt this content.

Her own labor takes the longest, over thirty hours, and at one point she’s so frustrated she cries. Everything feels so much closer to the surface, and her emotions are welling up like water from the springs. Eskel pulls her into a hug, whispering encouragements in her ear. It seems to Geralt that the pain will never stop, and maybe she could take it on it’s own, but combined with the waiting it seems to be killing her.

Finally, finally, in the dead of night, her daughter is born, screaming her little head off and waving her limbs. What little hair she has is reddish, and her eyes are a newborn blue. Geralt cradles her, half believing that when she touches her she’ll find nothing, that this all will have been a dream. But she’s here, she’s real. Geralt’s daughter.

In the back of her mind, Geralt has been anxious for Vesemir’s labor. Though the old witcher would deny it, she’s frailer than she once was, frailer than the younger wolves.

The actual labor is fine, though, not as short as Eskel’s but not as long as Geralt’s. The trouble doesn’t start until after the baby, a little boy, is born. It’s Lambert who notices it first - thick red tendrils snaking into the water.

Hearts in their throats, the three of them pull their mother from the water, wrapping her tightly in a blanket. Once Eskel has cut the cord, Geralt urges her to drink a bottle of Swallow, one hand cupping her pale, cold cheek. Her skin feels like paper beneath Geralt’s fingers.

The Swallow works, but not as well as they would have hoped. For three days, Vesemir is barely able to stay awake, too weak to sit up on her own. Her daughters never leave her side, moving the babies’ cradles into the room and watching over them as they watch over her. 

They watch her like a hawk as she recovers further, insisting that she keep her activity to short walks around the grounds, bringing her blankets whenever she’s sitting in the main room and building up the fire, waking up in the night with her baby as well as their own. Geralt is relieved to see color begin to return to the old witcher’s cheeks, and slowly, her strength does as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find me and the prompts at trissmarrygoals on tumblr


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